


From The Ashes

by orphan_account



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Gen, Terminus (The Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gareth's principal strength that made him a good leader was that he was a thinker and could always keep his sentiments in order. This situation was no different. </p><p>Taking place after the fall of Terminus in 5x01 and before the events of 5x02.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This initially started as my attempt to explore the feelings and reasoning behind how Gareth's own brother Alex, was being prepared to be eaten on the killing floor and how Gareth appeared to be apathetic about it. It turned into a fleshing-out of some of Gareth's immediate actions and reactions after the destruction of Terminus. I can't stop swimming around in this character's head, trying to understand his every thought, feeling and motivation. I may be a bit obsessed.

Terminus, the only place Gareth had ever felt remotely safe since the turn, was now burning. Most of Gareth's people had been killed by the walkers that had poured in through the downed fences, while the majority of the rest by what would have been their next few meals. Gareth wondered if Rick and company thought the Terminants being eaten by walkers was poetic justice. That is if Rick had figured out what the purpose of their capture was. Did he? Meat on the grill with not an animal in sight, train cars full of people, bleeding people out into a trough, just to name a few. No, Rick wasn't an idiot, he knew what Terminus was. Gareth had actually seen people who were seconds away from having their skulls bashed in and their throats slit, not know why it was happening.

"Do you know why you're here?" Gareth would occasionally de-gag a random person kneeling in front of the metal dish to ask them. Most of the time they knew, they had put two and two and four and five together. But sometimes, they hadn't. Gareth always replied to those who didn't know with the same five words.

"We're going to eat you." He'd say in a very matter-of-fact way, then slip the gags back into their mouths. The startled looks in the people's formerly oblivious eyes when he said those words would be tattooed in his mind forever.

Gareth spoke the truth when he told victims of his and his people's slaughter that he didn't _want_ to do this. The same way a frustrated man or woman who worked a dead-end job didn't _want_ to keep working their tiresome predicament, but it was the only way to make ends meet. If Gareth or the others sat moping around about how much they detested the ugly business of having to lure, catch and eat people, they'd never experience of moment of peace. This was the hand they were given. Gareth knew other survivors out there had been dealt a much better hand of cards than he and his people had. But self-pity leads to weakness and vulnerability. That same vulnerability and do-good attitude was the reason that band of thugs invaded their home and devastated their minds and bodies. The Terminants had grown confident in their work over time and no longer sat around in a melancholy stupor, mourning the end of the world.

Gareth had to accept the bad hand he'd just been dealt without getting case of what he always warned his people against contracting, the fatal affliction of the _why mes_.

He had sterilized and wrapped his shoulder with gauze from where Rick had grazed his it with a bullet. Luckily, the supply room where they kept their first aid kits was still intact despite the fire. The pain, the noise of screaming and gunfire had disoriented Gareth enough to where he didn't remember leaving the supply room. Next the thing he knew, he found himself entering the killing floor. The fire had spread into the room and burned most of everything in its wake. Patches of flames remained burning in sections of the room, but for the most part, the fire had come through and gone out. Smoke still lingered, but a wind had kicked up and blown through an open window and aired the place out just enough to breathe. The smoke burned Gareth's eyes and stuck in his throat as he inhaled and exhaled, but he kept moving toward the center of the room.

The trough was torched and the blood that hadn't yet drained out of it before the heat came had boiled and coagulated into a black film that clung tightly to the metal. The bodies of those the butchers had just slain still lay slumped over it. They had been totally immersed by fire and now looked like badly burned barbeque. Gareth slowly moved in front of the metal container, having purposely strayed his eyes from the table where his dead-by-a-firing-accident brother Alex had been being butchered on. He moved, step by step, in front of the trough where he'd been just hours earlier going about business as usual. He looked over the three still-as-ice bodies, wondering if there might be any salvageable meat left on them, but he knew there wasn't.

Gareth saw what used to be the bleached-blonde one in the black tank top twitch. So he'd turned. The other two hadn't, probably because their brains were too heavily damaged from the fire, Gareth figured.

It began making a walker's trademark moaning and hissing and attempted to lift its mutilated head. Gareth brought up his hand to grasp the knife handle that rest in the holster on his belt. In a swift motion, he lifted the knife from its resting place and plunged it into the corpse's head, ceasing its action.

 _God, I fucking hate these things_. Gareth exclaimed inside his head.

It was at this time he realized he'd been holding his breath. The stench was terrible and the remaining smoke made breathing an arduous task. Despite having undergone such desensitization from the way he lived, this experience left him feeling a tad ill. He was more than used to the smell of burned flesh, but this wasn't grilled meat for lunch, it was offensive, it indicated a waste.

He finally performed the action he'd dreaded and turned around to the table where Alex had been being sawed on. It had been agreed long ago, that any residents who died here and were not infected, would be eaten. It wouldn't be rational to waste any potential meat, even if it had been someone you loved. But that charred, blackened thing on the steel table that was once Alex, would have to further decompose, as it was obvious he had no salvageable meat on him either. A room full of wasted meat. In this moment and the ones before, when Alex had been killed, Gareth had to have no feeling about it. Gareth was a thinker and had to remain so as long as he was needed and as long as there was a threat. His plan after Alex's death had been to grieve later.

Gareth had previously walked into the killing floor and seen his brother stripped down naked, being carved-up like a Thanksgiving turkey and didn't bat an eye. Because to him, it was irrelevant in that moment. Whatever sadness and anger had to wait until Alex was butchered, his meat served and his special Terminus-stye funeral had taken place. Or more likely, until Gareth went to sleep that night and would inevitably soak his pillow with tears. Or stumble into his mother's room and act as if he were a five year-old child who needed nothing more than his mother's comfort and in this case, shared pain. But his mother was gone too. He'd found her turned into a buffet table in the church.

Now nothing could happen the way he intended it to, everything had collapsed. All plans erased, the board reset.

 _Why did I even come in here?_   Gareth thought to himself.

It had been clear, just from looking from outside, that nothing would have been left be useful thanks to the fire he saw take hold of the room. He stood beside the steel table his brother rested on and stared at Alex's scorched body with contemplation, as if Alex were just a mundane fixture in the room.

 _Okay, what next?_   He contemplated.

Gareth figured he ought to bury what was left of his brother. And his mother. The problem being this would take time and time was everything.

 _I can do it quickly, shallow graves aren't that hard_.

He could still leave him here, it might be best that he did, he needed to find the others. He had to think rationally, it would be better to leave him. He was going to leave everyone else who died here today, his mother and brother shouldn't be any different.

Gareth began to move his right hand to touch the steel table, but when he felt the warmth that still radiated from it, he brought his hand back to his side in a fist. At this time, he realized his throat was stiff and aching and there was a strong heat pressing against the back of his eyes. He was about to cry. He swallowed hard, attempting to subdue the ache and keep his tears to himself.

 _I'm wasting time_.

He decided to bury them. He'd done so much to keep them breathing, to keep them sheltered and to keep them fed that this was the very least he could do. Of all the ways the world had been twisted, warped, flipped upside down and turned inside out, he wanted to do one thing, even if it was the last time, which he believed it probably was, that was normal by old world standards. He wanted to what was expected of a son and a brother.

Gareth needed to do this quickly if he was to find the others and successfully track Rick and his group. The next thirty or so minutes he spent executing the gruesome work of moving his mother and brother's badly damaged bodies and digging them graves. He'd seen Greg and Mike moving about outside, killing walkers, but he decided to slip around them. He wanted to do this alone. The tears he'd felt swimming behind his eyes earlier had vanished, he had to remain task-oriented. This was just another thing on his to-do list.

Gareth barely paid any attention to Alex's body or what his dead weight felt like in his arms. Or how Alex's body was still warm, but not from life, from fire. The ashes from Alex's charred hair and skin brushed against Gareth's jacket as he carried him, leaving black stains against it. Carrying such weight put strain on his shoulder, making it throb with hot waves of pain. He ignored it, found a shovel and dug a grave about two and a half feet deep in a grassy area on the far side of the complex, where only a few walkers had gotten to. He pretended not to see the numerous bodies of his fallen fellow Terminants and barely looked at the walkers he did come across and kill. Gareth hated having to dump Alex in a shallow, unmarked grave. Alex was supposed to have been eaten. There was nothing respectful about this and no time and no way for Gareth to properly express his love and gratitude.

 _One down, one to go._ Gareth declared to himself.

Moving his mother was a mess. She hadn't been burned, surprisingly enough, considering the church was full of lit candles and clumsy walkers. But she bled from having been bitten, clawed at, mauled and eaten by the walkers which Gareth had promptly killed when he first found her. Gareth wondered if she'd thought about him in her final minutes. If she'd held out hope he'd show up and save her, or at the very least, kill the walkers and stay with her as she died. It was when he found the bullet wound on her leg that he put it together that someone had purposely incapacitated her and let walkers in to kill her.

Gareth felt the heat pressing up against his eyes again as he realized this. Gareth could sometimes be an angry crier, much to his discontent. He buttoned up his jacket, intending to protect his shirt from his mother's cold blood that still dripped and ran from the holes and missing pieces of her body. After he'd placed her body in the next grave he dug in the nearest more or less walker free zone, he noticed his jacket was as he expected, a wreck. Blood, skin tissue and soot coated the front and the sleeves. And the bullet wound hole from where Rick had shot his shoulder was just an injury to insult. Gareth decided there was no way in hell he was going to face Rick and company again with his family's blood and a bullet hole on his clothes. He unbuttoned the green coat and tossed it in with Mary and covered them with dirt. The weather was remarkably beautiful that day. Crystal clear, deep blue sky and chilly, dry air. It was Gareth's ideal climate. Despite the crisp air, Gareth had sweat profusely from his labor, matting his bangs to his forehead.

After he'd finished refilling the grave, he noticed not too far away lay a dead walker who had been one of their best snipers. It had looked like Greg or Mike had knifed him in the head since he'd seen the two in the area earlier. The former sniper wore a leather jacket that was still clean despite the circumstances and Gareth decided he would take it. A perfect replacement for the one he'd just buried with his mother. He'd again managed to shut off his personal attachments for this particular business. He'd always worked well as the rock.

When Gareth was a child and Mary's sister had gotten into a car accident and died, it was Gareth who reached out and held his mother and brother's hands in the hospital waiting room as they awaited news of Mary's sister's condition. Mary's sister had been crazy about Gareth and Alex, taking them to the movies, to the zoo, to the playground. Gareth had loved her just as much as Alex and Mary and he was just as devastated when she passed. But Gareth's role was the rock, the supporter. And while Mary and Alex broke down and began to fall apart, Gareth was the one who held them up. He insisted while Mary and Alex were in the lobby waiting to hear if his aunt had survived surgery, that they eat something. He brought them chips and candy bars from the vending machine and made sure they ate them. He always kept them fed when they needed it most.

The deed of burying his family was done and now Gareth had to find his remaining people.

 

* * *

 

After finding the several survivors, which of all people, actually included Albert, which Gareth could hardly believe, they setup a plan of action. Gather remaining supplies from Terminus, head the direction they saw Rick and his group flea take out those assholes who decimated their home.

 _What would taste better than the ringleader roasted over an open fire?_   Gareth thought.

The imagined image and taste gave Gareth a warm rush of feeling in his chest and stomach. What followed was the imagined sound of a knife cutting through Rick's bones. It stuck in his head like a catchy song.

They would need to move hastily now and Gareth already knew he'd wasted time burying his mother and brother. Gareth was asked what happened after he was shot. He told  his group he was struggling to stop the bleeding while not being shot yet again and then tended to 'personal business.' None of them pressed any further. Albert reminded Gareth that Martin was missing and could be alive since he wasn't at Terminus during the attack.

"Let's head that way, if he's alive he ought to be in that general area." Gareth directed. This would waste even more time, looking for someone who only may be alive, but he felt he owed it to the guy, he was one of his people after all. They arrived to find Martin wasn't at the shack he'd been stationed at to set off the fireworks that herded the walkers away. They found an assortment of dead walkers outside and recently spilled blood inside, but not enough to indicate Martin's death.

As had been expected, Martin eventually appeared screaming at them through the woods. A sense of relief washed over Gareth. He wasn't overly fond of Martin, but he never strayed away from a dirty job.

"I've been looking all over for you pricks!" Martin yelled. Martin was out of breath, sweat-soaked and looked like he'd had the shit beaten out of him. 

"What the hell happened to you?" Gareth asked.

Martin stood and caught his breath for a few seconds. Gareth could tell Martin was trying to piece together how he was going to tell them what transpired. He needed to put a positive spin on his role after all, being Martin. Martin stammered on for what seemed like minutes.

"...and so he was knocking the shit out of my face yelling 'I won't! I won't!' and I blacked out." Martin said, making swift punching motions with his right hand into his left palm.

"The dumbass thought I was dead. Oh boy when he sees me he's gonna-" Martin laughed.

"Oh Martin, threatening to break a baby's neck? Now that's in poor taste." Gareth teased. Gareth could tell by the look on Martin's face that he'd just thrown a mental "fuck you" at him for that remark.

"Did you get the kid's name?" Gareth asked Martin.

"Uh, Judith." Martin replied.

"Ugh, a grandma's name." Theresa scoffed. They all laughed at Theresa's comment, the first time they'd laughed since the attack. They eventually got in the most talking they had all day, explaining to Martin what had happened, what they were doing now. He got on board without question.

"They killed Mary?" Martin said. Despite having had no friends at the place, he had always liked Mary. Everyone liked Mary. So the idea she was ripped apart by walkers because of these people actually offended him.

"Yes." Gareth replied plainly.

Finally, they began to attempt to track down Rick and his group. It started as a very silent journey. Gareth kept glancing at Theresa as they walked, one of the lucky ones to make it out. Gareth recalled that Theresa had lost her older sister, Marie, about seven months back. Marie had had a congenital heart defect and it was known in this world with no more modern medicine, she could be a goner at any time. Marie had died in her sleep, peaceful. Which was a rare occurrence since peaceful deaths are unheard of in this day and age.

Immediately after finding her dead in her bed, she was taken to the killing floor, stabbed in the head, bled out and had her body carved up for meat. Many of them gathered outside around a large wooden table, including Alex. Alex stood next to Theresa, intermittently rubbing her shoulder with his hand to comfort her as she gave a speech on Marie's life. Gareth smiled slightly at the memory, for it was obvious Alex had been harboring an enormous crush on Theresa, who never looked at Alex as anything other than Gareth's little brother.

Marie's meat had been cooked and laid out on platters on the table. Her shin, thigh, breast and upper arm meat had been grilled by Mary and served along with steamed vegetables from their garden and fried rice. Theresa stepped forward, standing at the head of the table and prepared her plate, taking the most fatty cut of thigh meat along with the vegetable and rice sides. Everyone stood silently and waited for her to say the words she'd been dreading to say. "Goodbye Marie." She finally got out. She placed the plate on the table and picked up a medium sized piece of meat off of it with both hands and took the first bite, chewing slowly, methodically. An upwards twitch of her brow indicated that the meat tasted good, better than she expected. After this, everyone else began to serve themselves.

Alex had put ketchup on his serving of Marie's meat. He'd done this ever since he was a child, slathered meat in ketchup. He'd put it on his steak, brisket, ham and even catfish. Gareth thought it was disgusting since he hated ketchup and always teased Alex about it, said that's why he had been chubby in his childhood.

"Hey, I was a late bloomer and a big-boned kid man." Alex would always tease back.

Despite Gareth's dislike of ketchup, he figured he ought to have had Alex's meat with ketchup as a sentimental nod to is brother's odd culinary preferences. It was an honor, to be fed to your fellow Terminants, they made it one. This new world funeral was a way to say thank you for the service they had provided you in their life here. To use their body to nourish yours. Even Gareth knew he would be cannibalized by his own people if he were to die.

The gratitude they extended to their fallen comrades whom they ate is much of the reason why Gareth would often show up in on the killing floor and talk to the people who were about to be bled out. The official reason he made appearances in there was to keep records and monitor the butchers, but also because he liked to meet his meat. He always remembered their names, if they gave them. He wanted to see who they were, appreciate the fact that they'd made it this far. And despite how he often teased them, he respected them. He took note of their nuances and the roles they played if they had shown up in a group.

Rick was the ringleader. It took one look at him and his group for Gareth to figure that out. He was glad he had a reason to go in there and talk to him before he was to be killed. Rick had been smart in is approach to Terminus, entering through the back door, hiding a bag of weapons behind the fence. Too often people had arrived there with hearts in their eyes, expecting sunshine and roses at their feet. Gareth was amazed how people can still be so trusting in this day and age.

Alex never stepped foot on the killing floor if he could help it. In that respect he was the opposite of Gareth, he didn't want to meet his meat. He preferred to keep that part of reality out of sight and out of mind because despite the fact he'd never argued or protested the turn to cannibalism, he retained a great deal of compassion. He found it was easier to get by every day without having to actually see the bloody cost of survival. Alex worked best up front, he was perfect for building certitude amongst those who arrived.

"Who wouldn't trust such a face?" Gareth used to say.

That irritated Alex somewhat, he wasn't proud of all of it, but at least he could help. Obviously, the mister polite guy act didn't fool Rick, who Gareth could tell suspected something was up the moment he set foot in the sign room. Gareth had initially liked Rick, he could see some of himself in him. He had intended to be the one to get first dibs on his meat and he still intends to get the first bite when they find him.

Gareth, Theresa, Albert, Greg, Mike and Martin now tracked a large amount of shoe prints, obviously belonging to Rick and company.

 _Well isn't Rick a confident leader._ Gareth mused. Just leaving his trail out in the open.

"You want to talk about it?" Theresa said to Gareth after at least fifteen minutes of wordless travel. To which "it" was she referring? The destruction of their home? The loss of his mother and brother? Or the fact that they've been reduced to hunters? Or all of the above? Regardless of whichever "it" she meant, he was not in the mood for talking about it.

"Nope." He replied. He could tell Theresa didn't want to talk about it either, she was just being polite.

Gareth did however, grit his teeth while still thinking of his deprivation of a proper goodbye to his family. Thoughts of his dead family returned after having been free of them for a period. The act of filling Martin in, planning their next move and attack had totally distracted him from the loss he'd just endured. He thought of the person who let in the walkers to kill his mother. A grey-haired woman with a pixie cut, that's who Albert had told him he saw. She was the same one who set fire to the place. Gareth had declared to his group earlier that he was to get first dibs on that bitch. More thoughts flooded in, unwelcome, as Gareth suddenly realized he'd buried Alex and Mary all the way across the compound from each other.

 _Why did I do that?_   He thought.

He suddenly felt a sense of urgency to return, to unearth Alex's grave and replant him next to their mother. No, he couldn't. They would need to eat very soon and needed to stay on Rick's group's trail. He could go back later and rebury him if he still wanted to, they'd been leaving a trail of breadcrumbs back to Terminus anyway. He then finally let himself reflect on the fact that Alex's death had been partially his fault. It was also partially the fault of the sniper but of course, he lay the main blame on Rick. Gareth remembered "Shut up" being the last thing he said to Alex while trying to get him to keep quiet while Rick held a gun to his neck. Alex's nervousness in tight situations often made the ordeals worse.

 _Could have been worse_. Gareth told himself about his last words to his brother.

He told Alex to shut up a lot, half of the time he was just teasing, the other half he really needed Alex to shut the hell up. He figured those being his last words to him was sort of poetic in a way. Gareth couldn't remember what the last thing he said to is mother was, he thinks it was something generic like "Good morning."

"Hey, look! Pecans." Albert said as he spotted a tree that was overflowing with the nuts.

"That ain't gonna hold us for long." Mike chimed in. No, it wouldn't hold them for long. But Gareth thought the feeling of something, even as meager as pecans, on his churning stomach would do him some good. They began gathering up what they could find both on and off the tree. Gareth noticed there weren't as many nuts on the ground as there should be based on how fertile the tree was. Gareth knew Rick and his posse had been through here, they were hot on their trail.

"Hmm, I wish we could find a hickory tree." Theresa said.

"Hickory smoked long pig." Mike added with a smirk.

"Hey, when we find 'em, I still want that kid's hat." Martin said.

"You and your priorities, Martin." Gareth said, half-annoyed, half-amused.

Gareth lazily ate the nut meat he and the others cracked out of the shells as they sat gathered around the tree. Gareth envisioned his next meal being flesh cooked over a fire. He thought of the sound of fire crackling and the feeling of heat emanating from it and more than anything else, the smell of fresh meat being turned from a pink, slimy slab to a tender, delectable portion.

 _Who are we gonna get first?_ Gareth contemplated.

He knew they wouldn't have much of choice and would have to take the first person who became a vulnerable target. Gareth wished he could start with the kid, make veal out of him. Make sure Rick could experience fresh the feeling of losing a member of his family. Or maybe he'd wait until it was just Rick and the kid left and kill the kid in front of him. It would be poetic justice, Gareth had to watch his brother die in front him thanks to Rick. And what about Judith, he pondered. The idea of killing the baby gave him slight pause, but if it came to that, he'd get Martin to do it. He was going to before anyway. Or maybe he would let Rick live so he'd have to live with the fact that he had no family left.

Gareth thought these thoughts, turned over these feelings in his chest, imagined the sweet taste of revenge but never said any of it out loud to the others. There was no point in it to him. They all knew the other one was devastated. Theresa had clearly seen it on Gareth's face when she asked if he wanted to talk about it earlier. They were now a ragtag group of survivors having to scrape together whatever meager resources they could find. They knew that survival was key and that had to come before their feelings.

"You think we can find another place?" Albert asked as he turned over still-shelled pecans in his hands. Albert's question was met with silence.

"Gareth?" Albert pressed on.

"Of course we can." Gareth reassured him. Gareth realized for the first time in this moment that Albert was somewhat like Alex. They could both be a little bit sheepish and carry a little too much anxiety. But Gareth stopped seeing Alex's cautiousness as a fault ever since he turned out to be right about putting up the signs that lead that band of murderers and rapists to their home.

"Everywhere that's any good is occupied." Mike said.

"Let's just focus on the immediate future, alright?" Gareth shut down the exchange. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss a future place of residence. He was so exhausted, so emotionally drained, so dirty and despite the small amount of pecans he'd just eaten, he was famished. They would all have to sleep on the cold, hard ground tonight, maybe curl up on their clothes or if they're lucky, find more. Gareth was already missing his bed, he'd had an exceptionally good night's sleep the night before and he knew it would be a long time before he ever had one again.

"Is that Jake's jacket?" Martin asked Gareth, observing that Gareth's change of clothes matched that of a now dead sniper of theirs. Gareth nodded yes but Martin didn't reply. Gareth noticed Martin had been unusually quiet since his long tale of his experience at the shack. Martin typically never shut up and it was because of this the grey-haired woman and Tyreese had found out Michonne and Carl were at Terminus. Gareth would be lying to himself if he said he didn't feel a little bit angry at him for that, but how was Martin supposed to know people who knew Rick and his group would overhear his conversation with Cynthia on the walkie-talkie?

Gareth told them to get up and toss the pecan shells around as one of the bread crumbs they were leaving back to Terminus.

"So what are we now, Gareth?" Albert asked as they walked.

"We're hunters, Albert. And damn good ones." Gareth replied.

"Which one of them are we gettin' first?" Mike asked.

"Should be that big red-headed dude or the voluptuous chick with short black hair."  Theresa said.

"I'm starving." Greg added.

"Now now, don't get ahead of yourselves guys. We can't just pick the best-looking one right off the bat. Hunting is all about opportunity." Gareth said with a smile.

"Well I hope that _opportunity_ ain't one of the skinny dudes." Martin said.

"You're very picky for people in your situation, you know." Gareth teased.

"Hey, it's still 'We first, always,' right?" Albert asked in a small voice.

Mary had been the one to come up with that line. She had said it when the survivors of the siege had taken back Terminus and were all deciding what to do next. Gareth recalled his mother's tired, beaten face that was stained with the blood of the men they'd had to kill to take back their home. The sheer pain mixed with triumph they all felt standing together that fateful day.

"No matter what, it's we first. Always." Mary had declared.

Gareth nodded and smiled fondly at the memory of Mary coining the phrase and returned the sentiment to Albert.

"Of course. We first, always."


End file.
